


becoming undone

by akamine_chan



Category: Bandom, Frank Iero and the Patience, My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan
Summary: Jamia finds him curled up in the middle of their bed, body tight with tension, face sweaty and flushed. When she rests her hand on his side, she can feel the minute tremors running through him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a Tweet Frank made about playing his guitar for the first time after the Sydney accident.
> 
> Again, caveat lector: this story deals with real life events and real almost tragedies surrounding the accident in Sydney. If that's not your thing, please hit the back button.
> 
> Many thanks, as always, to Luce for the beta.
> 
> Title from _The Resurrectionist, Or An Existential Crisis In C#_ by Frank Iero and the Patience

Jamia finds him curled up in the middle of their bed, body tight with tension, face sweaty and flushed. When she rests her hand on his side, she feels the minute tremors running through him.

At her touch, he breathes out explosively, sagging back into the comforter.

"You're an idiot," she remarks. She reaches under his loose shirt, strokes along his too-prominent ribs. He hasn't been eating well since the accident, and it shows. It feels good, though, to touch him; he's warm and solid under her, and she can almost, _almost_ forget how fucking afraid she'd been. Like it was a bad dream, fading away as she swims toward wakefulness.

"Fuck you," Frank wheezes. He flails his arm around and Jamia catches his hand in hers, threads their fingers together. "Just fucking fuck you."

"Think you can take me?" She gives his hand a quick squeeze. "Bring it on, dude."

He laughs, but it breaks off on a jagged noise. "Fuck, that _hurts_."

"Yeah, well." She can't help herself, she brushes the hair off his forehead, traces a stupidly pretty eyebrow. "Maybe that will fucking teach you to listen to what the doctor says."

"She didn't say I _couldn't_ —"

Jamia wants to smack some sense into him. It's the most common reaction she has to Frank. "Don't you even, Frank. I was there, I took notes." She had, in the little notebook she carried around in her purse.

The pages were crumpled, and a little waterlogged, but still completely legible.

There's a too-familiar twist to Frank's mouth, because he's a stubborn fucker.

"Seriously, what the fuck, Frank? You _know_ you could have made things worse, could have done permanent damage—"

He inhales unsteadily. "I—" He stops, closes his eyes. His hands are clenched tightly, and his shoulders are stiff. It has to hurt.

Jamia waits him out; she's gotten good at that over the years. It's come in handy when dealing with the kids, because they are just as contrary as their dad.

He shifts, presses his cheek to the pillow. It's his way of pushing her away, shutting her out. It pisses her off, because in all the years they've known each other, the one promise she ever demanded of him was _together_.

"Don't." It's the only thing she says, the only thing she _has_ to say. It pulls him back to her.

"I was scared." The words sound torn out of him. "Was _so_ scared I wouldn't be able to—"

Jamia carefully lowers herself to the bed, pulls him close, pets his hair. Keeping him safe. "I know, sweetheart. I know."

 

-fin-


End file.
